A fire blazed in the den’s hearth, as much for comfort as for heat, and its smoke curled unimpeded up the chimney. Warm baths, delicious biscuits, and innumerable cuddles later, the children were ready to retire despite the sun having only set, and they demanded a story from their Aunt Beezy. If that was what was wanted, then that was what they would receive, along with her signature ending to the tale. “…and they lived—come, children, as one.”
“In cordial affiliation from that day forward.” The chorus was ragged and lacking in enthusiasm.
“What’s a corjul fillishun?” Tarben asked.
“A question for the ages, Master Humphries.” Georgie stood at the threshold and paused so all within might comprehend his magnificence before he came into the room.
The children looked at Beatrice, who nodded. In impeccable harmony, they bowed and curtsied to their regent.
The royal sigh was windy indeed. Some class of princely edict trembled on his tongue when Charlotte rose from the sofa.
“Georgie.”
“Charlie.” If Beatrice did not know better, she’d think the prince swallowed in trepidation. “Worked out in the end, eh?” he said, and did he attempt a chuckle? If he thought to dare, it died in his throat as Charlotte prowled toward him. While one of his status would never tremble, his fist did convulse around the elaborate hankie in his grasp.
“To what do you refer?” she asked. Her children, who knew well what that tone entailed, were caught between horror and glee and took refuge behind their footmaid nursemen. “To the marriage you forced dear Beezy and darling Artie to undertake, with threats to the well-being of my family?” She stood before him, and his placid expression twitched. “Or do you refer to the abduction of my child, our Omega? The abduction that did work out in the end, very little thanks to you, in your failure to inform us the usurper was a threat. Or is it regarding the usurper himself, whose fate I shall not inquire after as it was very, very nearly too little too late?”
“I believe you have spoiled His Highness for choice, Charlie.” Against protocol, Beatrice took the prince’s arm. “Your Highness, shall we be hosting you this evening?” Let us hope not, she thought. The staterooms were in no way prepared to accept a royal personage, and she had become quite attached to the notion of making them hers and Arthur’s, sooner rather than later.
“I shall abide at Lowell Hall until the ceremony, though it is mere hours away.” He sniffed. “Lowell and his duchess will remain, as Her Grace wishes to visit with you and the duke will not be parted from his wife. Miss Tabitha Barrington will be your guest as well.”
“What a competent butler you make, Georgie,” Charlotte spat.
“Charlie, if we may take our leave of you? Goodnight, children,” she began and was hugged thoroughly by the cubs, Ursella no worse for her harrowing adventure. Indeed, she was very much herself as she wandered off to drag an ottoman beneath a window. “Your Highness, we shall detain you no longer as Your Presence was undertaken in great haste and I am sure you wish to avail of time spent in relaxation and peace.”
She steered him out of the den, and they paused on the landing. A precision of royal footmen lined the stairs down both sides, one to every second tread. And Arthur thought Lowell was extravagant.
“Your timing was impeccable, Your Highness.” Her gratitude, she feared, would ever be seasoned with annoyance at his interference in her life.
“Your husband wasted no time in demanding my assistance.”
“I am cognizant of the sacrifice you made, sir.” Honestly, would this man accept thanks or not?
“As I said, the ensemble I wore was easily sacrificed.”
“Georgie.” His expression vacillated between indignation and one very like fond amusement. “If what Ben told me is anything to go by, making a stand was a delicate yet deliberate choice, and I insist upon expressing my gratitude.”
“What had Garben told you?”
“That the challenge would be forfeit did Hallbjorn not make it in his manskin. That should a member of the royal family choose to intervene, it sets a precedent onerous to sustain.”
“And so you sallied forth to inspire enough rage in Hallbjorn to force his Change and sent word to me that I do my duty posthaste. Deliberate and not so delicate.”
“This is the product of your orchestrations, sir.” Beatrice would not relent.
“And as I said, it worked out in the end.” He looked around him with longing. “I spent one summer here, when Arthur was quite, quite small, little more than a babe in arms and not in the least bit entertaining. He will not recall this. It was the most idyllic season I have ever spent. I was free to roam and Change and feast on wild strawberries and honey from the comb. I was minded by Arthur’s mother with as much care as she minded her own, and his father gave me a pattern upon which to base my behavior—well, some of it. It does my heart good to see Arcadia restored and its chatelaine and Alpha female to be everything it deserves and more.”
“Georgie!” Arthur bellowed from below. “Get your great hairy arse down here, there’s work to be done.”
“Your Grace!” Beatrice gasped. Relaxing protocol was well and good, but this was a step too far.
“Oh. Madam.” Contrite, he popped his head around the end of the staircase. “Didn’t see you there. Your Highness, we beg your company as we prepare for the proceedings at dawn.”
“Proceedings?” This was not on her schedule.
“I leave that for your husband to relay.” Georgie bent over her hand and processed down the stairs. Halfway, the footmen behind him fell in, giving an impression very like a waterfall, taking their place guarding his back, those at the fore leading the way.
“For Odin’s sake, Georgie, do you practice that in your spare time?” she heard Arthur grouse.
Brosnyn appeared in the wake of the royal phalanx. “Ma’am, the Duchess of Lowell and the Honorable Miss Barrington await you in the footstool room.”
“Thank you, Brosnyn.” As odd as it was to receive guests so late in the day, Beatrice was thrilled to see her friends. “If you would show them up?”
Arcadia’s butler shuffled out ahead of the women, Felicity in particular solicitous of his great age. “Mr. Conlon, please assemble the housekeeping footmen and prepare the Sorrel Suite and the Verona Chambers?”
“It is being done even as we speak, ma’am,” he replied.
“You are a treasure.” The little turtle beamed and toddled away.
“The Sorrel Suite? You have been busy,” Felicity said as she attempted a decorous ascension up the stairs. She failed about halfway, and Beatrice found herself in an embrace that rivaled the bears’ for strength.
Tabitha’s hug was as fierce. Another friend made on the fringes of the beau monde’s ballrooms, Miss Barrington had only returned to society after living abroad with her brother Timothy. The willowy lady had a passion for apothecary matters and was said to be as knowledgeable as a man on the subject. She certainly spoke with as much confidence as did a man, a quality that inspired censure from the arbiters of manners in the beau monde.
“I find the naming of rooms to be sufficient reward for tending to their refurbishment myself,” she replied. “Come, let us repair to the den. It was known as the family reception room, but we found it unwieldy to say that every day and night. It is a term that has, em, meaning for the Humphries clan.” She caught herself in time before revealing anything she ought not before Tabitha. “I am afraid there is an inconsistency to the names. They do not share a theme, as in being called for flowers, for example. Even at this early stage I fear it is too late to change them.”
“They are idiosyncratic, then.” Felicity and Tabitha took in the room, and Beatrice found herself on edge waiting for their response. “This is a wonderful setting, Your Grace.”
“We were not to ‘Your Grace’ one another to death if I recall your letter correctly,” Beatrice reminded Felicity.
“It is very homely,” Tabitha said, “but an open window or two would prove healthful.”
“I will direct a footman to do so as I have no trust in my ability to open them myself. I vow, I required Arthur to exert his, uh, superior strength on every door in this place. The ones that were not already off their hinges, that is.”
Brosnyn hovered on the threshold. “Ma’am, Mr. Conlon wishes to know your desires regarding refreshment.”
“Let us have tea for four, thank you.” Beatrice dragged the chaise back to its place near the tea table. “My sister-in-law, Lady Swinburn, is seeing to the children up in the nursery and will join us directly. There.” She settled the chaise into place and fetched a cane-backed chair to finish off the grouping. “The furniture moves about willy-nilly, none will admit to it. I do not know if it is another family idiosyncrasy or if His Grace is keen to raise my ire.”
“Beatrice, have you been taking one of my tonics?” Tabitha touched the back of her hand to Beatrice’s forehead. “I have not heard more than five words from you in one sitting in our entire acquaintanceship, and here you are, as bubbly as a brook.”
“She has had a tonic,” Charlotte quipped as she joined them. “Applied by her husband.”
“Charlie, do not!” Beatrice scolded her and then made the introductions. Three footmen followed with tea trays, and once ensconced behind the pot, Beatrice’s joy was complete. Her own home, her staff, and, when it came down to it, her teapot. She could ask for little more, except…
“You look radiant,” Felicity said.
“In the first weeks it was due to an unladylike glow of exertion,” she joked as she poured out.
“Her Grace did more than her fair share to rejuvenate Arcadia,” Charlotte added.
“If only you had seen it when we first arrived,” Beatrice said. “Shattered windows, the roof like a sieve, wind howling through the walls. It was like something out of one of Mrs. Anchoretta Asquith’s novels. Oh, Felicity! Oh.” She caught herself with a glance at Tabitha and faltered. “I heard something about that good lady and recalled I do not like to gossip.”
“It is not gossip if it is common knowledge,” Felicity said.
“I am aware that Mrs. Asquith is, like many here, able to change from one Shape to another,” Tabitha said. “His Highness took me into his confidence.” This statement, made by any other in society, would have been delivered with no little pride. Tabitha mentioned it as though it was of no greater consequence than reporting that the coal bin had been filled.
“Miss Barrington has been put in charge of the rehabilitation of His Grace, the Duke of Llewelyn, who now resides in Lowell Close,” Felicity informed them. Beatrice had recognized the duke from her nuptials in Carlton House but knew nothing of his past. “She was on her way to settle there but met us on the road to Arcadia. Her brother, Mr. Timothy Barrington, is our new tutor and has gone on ahead.”
“I was gratified to see Llewelyn lending his aid to your cause,” Tabitha said. “It is promising to see him extend himself. He will not achieve wellness by lurking around the edges of humanity nor of versipellian society.”
“You must know his history, Miss Barrington.” Charlotte’s face was the picture of censure.
“I do, Lady Swinburn, and my heart goes out to him,” Tabitha assured her, “but so does my mind. My intellect tells me the refusal to embrace his new circumstances will not aid his healing.”
“What was done to him was unconscionable,” Charlotte spat. “One cannot fault him for struggling to regain his health.”
“What was done to him was the height of barbarity,” Tabitha agreed. “But I believe your kind tend to collapse into your feelings. No offense intended.”
“I am tempted to take it, Miss Barrington.” Beatrice had never seen Charlotte nonplussed; Tabitha’s forthright persona had that effect on people.
“That is your prerogative, of course.” Tabitha held out the plate of biscuits to Charlotte, who took one out of ingrained habit. “As it is of His Highness. He takes offense with aplomb and frequency.”
“A characteristic common in princes, and in dukes,” Beatrice muttered, and Felicity laughed.
“I shall negotiate the contrast between what I think is required for the benefit of his health, as well as respecting Llewelyn’s choices,” Tabitha said, and Charlotte appeared mollified. “He will be quite the challenge.”
“Oh, indeed,” Felicity said, her voice brimming with amusement. “We are very eager to witness the evolution of Miss Barrington’s plans for His Grace.”
***
A muffled rustle in the underbrush would have eluded ears less acute than those of a versipellis. “Llewellyn, show yourself,” Arthur called as the motley crew of Shapeshifters entered the grove. “You are welcome to join us if you require a formal invitation.”
The rustling stopped, the concealed one poised. There was an explosion of movement, and they heard him flee.
“His reserves were sorely taxed by merely standing in the presence of so many this night,” Georgie said.
“He moves with great speed as a human,” Ben remarked, hackles showing. “I cannot fathom how fluidly he must move as his essential self.”
“You have heard he does not Change?” Georgie asked. The men nodded.
“Does he consciously fight against it?” Arthur could not imagine doing so.
“It is a natural response to his captivity,” Bates said. “And not all of us are as much at home with the animal within as others.”
Arthur perked up at that. Was Bates not in harmony with his wolf? Was that why he was content, earl’s son or no, to be Second to Lowell?
“Miss Barrington will have the care of His Grace’s recuperation,” said Lowell. “It was His Highness’s notion to have my duchess do so, which will not transpire. My wife is rather occupied with her new enterprise. Among other things.”
And what was that smug look on His bloody lupine Grace’s face? Yet another innovation to cast the rest of them in the shade? As if he weren’t setting enough precedents left, right, and center.
“Shall you not engage in the efforts you wish accomplished, Artie,” Georgie said, “or are you content to stand about like a wallflower?”
Arthur threw his coat over a branch to the horror of both Georgie and Alfred. Ben mocked the faces they made behind their backs as he did the same, and Their Royal Highness made his degree of involvement clear by spreading an overlarge handkerchief on a boulder and sitting in a huff. Bates as ever took the middle ground: he removed his coat but folded it with the care of a valet.
Speaking of valets. “How good of you to send me more mouths to feed, Lowell.”
“I did as my wife bid,” Alfred replied, unperturbed, “in honor of her friendship with your wife.”
“And my wife,” Ben added, “is well pleased with the two lads who have the care of our cubs.”
“This talk of wives,” Georgie said. “How tiresome.” Any implication of marital harmony was in the worst taste given the dire state of the prince’s own mating, and Arthur swiftly turned their attention to the task at hand. When he was an Alpha cub, setting a bonfire was one of the first things his father had taught him. Ben and Bates, arms full, lugged branches into the clearing, while Alfred kicked and rolled a large stump forward.
“That will do well for the center, Alfie,” Arthur said.
“That nickname is not for your use.” Lowell called up another smug smile and explained no further.
“Fair enough,” Arthur said and slapped him on the back. He drew Ben’s attention to Lowell as he turned away: an imprint of his mucky hand showed clear as day in the center of Weston’s finest. Bates rolled his eyes but neglected to inform his Alpha of the alteration to his ensemble.
“Alfred, in all honesty.” Arthur heaved another sturdy branch onto the arrangement. “Am I meant to keep the footmen?”
“They are presently arrayed in your livery,” Bates said as he dumped another load of twigs at the base of the structure.
“Which you organized, brother,” Ben added. “You hired Lady Coleman yourself.”
“Will you not allow me to torment His Grace the Duke of Lowell? Pap’r-faced villains.”
“Is he still invoking the bard?” Georgie moaned.
“He quoted at me on my wedding day.” Lowell rolled another log into the clearing. “Osborn, it is the pleasure of those in my care to work with the gifts they discover. I cannot employ each and every one to best effect. I am pleased they have found places here.”
“And with ten more on their way. Or is it twelve, Lowell?” His Highness sounded smug indeed.
Lowell refused to be goaded. “I shall remind my duchess to alert Lady Coleman about the requirement for more clothing.”
“Or will Bates do so?” Ben looked innocent, a sure indication that he was scheming.
“Ah?” Arthur sniffed more gossip in the air.
“No baiting Bates, if you please,” Georgie said. “It reflects ill on the lady.”
Ben groused as he moved to his brother’s aid. “I can’t be the only one in these parts seeing to the succession.”
***
Felicity turned to Charlotte. “I trust your daughter is well after her ordeal?”
“She is, thank you,” Charlotte replied. “Our cubs are resilient in their own ways, and it is difficult to knock Ursella from her perch.”
“She is our Omega,” Beatrice announced, her pride as great as if the child were her own. “Even at her young age, she was more than a match for Hallbjorn.”
“I understand His Highness has resolved the issue?” Felicity asked.
“He has, although I have yet to discuss Arthur’s plan in retrospect as he did not inform me of it beforehand.” Arch looks were shared around. “And I leave His Highness’s methods to his discretion.”
“A duke in general and a versipellis in particular is not always as forthcoming with their plans as we would like,” Felicity said.
“Your diplomacy is breathtaking.” Beatrice laughed. “I try to set a good example through my own behavior in devising a daily schedule for the household. I have yet to discern its influence on Osborn.”
“Beatrice, are you well, truly?” Felicity took her hand. “I must admit to trepidation when I heard of your nuptials, and under such circumstances.”
“Thank you, I am well.” Beatrice busied herself with the detritus of the tea table. “I was not at first, as you may well fathom.”
“A woman of wealth forced into a marriage with a stranger,” Tabitha said, “presents more than one challenge to overcome, I suspect.”
Beatrice nodded. “Yet I was fortunate to discover upon my arrival at Arcadia a purpose tailored to my abilities, one I was pleased and eager to undertake. And it served to establish common ground.”
“Yes.” Felicity folded her serviette into the smallest square she could contrive with the thick cloth. “Common ground is quite necessary.”
“Indeed.” Beatrice had a notion her friend referred to bed play. “Some ground was more common than others. And in certain instances, if such a mission was not up to my abilities, I discovered my husband’s talents in tutelage.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Charlotte rolled her eyes.
“My sister-in-law has not met polite discourse she hesitates to circumvent.” Beatrice took Felicity’s serviette and threw it at Charlotte.
“I agree with Lady Swinburn,” Tabitha said. “Euphemism does not serve us. We must speak frankly amongst ourselves if we are to profit from one another’s knowledge and experience.” She softened her typically assertive tone with a brilliant smile. “Beatrice, despite being an unmarried woman, I have a breadth of knowledge to convey, do you but ask me.”
“Thank you, Tabitha, I believe I shall.” Beatrice went to the door and called out to the attending footman. “Corvus, do fetch the decanter from His Grace’s study. And four glasses.”
***
“…and then she nigh on decapitated herself with a mirror.” Arthur carved a sturdy branch into what would be a torch. The men lounged around on the ground, apart from, unsurprisingly, Georgie and Lowell. “Nearly drove me to drink.”
“But all is well between them, in any case,” Ben said, “and I do mean all.”
“Then we will await the news of your expectation of a happy event.” Lowell sounded satisfied.
“Yes, well…” Arthur looked around him at the fathers seated in the clearing. “She’s wanting cubs as soon as possible. She knows it is up to me. I don’t know how to go about it.”
“Oh, my brother. Let me be your guide.” Ben sat up, his face the picture of seriousness. “You see,” and he took up two innocent objects, one circular in shape and one straight, whose benignity was soon compromised. “When a mama and a papa love each other very much—oof!”
The others roared with laughter as Arthur tackled his brother and tussled him to the ground. “It’s the ‘calling in’ nonsense,” he continued, once the roughhousing was done. “Is there an invocation or a ritual or…?”
Lowell cleared his throat. “Wolves have only to invoke Diana, and it is done.”
“What, you say ‘Diana, give us pups, please and thank you’? After or during or when? Hush, you boil, you plague sore!” Ben rolled around in hysterics while Alfred hemmed and hawed and Georgie, out of character, blushed.
“It is a combination of wish and will.” Ben regained his composure. “The words you think or say, they are what suits each male to his nature and that of his mate.” He smiled, in memory of his own cubs’ conception perhaps. “I believe the female ought to have a say, obviously, given the nature of my beloved wife, and I would not have it any other way.”
“I have been asked to bring them in,” Arthur said, declining to say at which stage he was so importuned. “It is the wish of my duchess.”
Ben cocked his head. “Are these new terms in the cordial affiliation?”
The company gaped as their regent broke into gales of laughter, such as they had never heard in their long lives. It rollicked on and on until tears ran down his face, to the degree he was required to rise, use his hankie, and replace it on the stone.
“I am a genius,” he said. “You owe me endless gratitude, Osborn.”
“A cordial what now?” Lowell looked up from the branch he was struggling to scrape into a suitably torch-like shape.
“Our beginning was fraught,” Arthur smiled to himself, “but we have found our way.”
***
“…and men often need direction to that sensitive area.”
“And this is the seat of the, the…” Beatrice faltered.
“The female erotic function, yes,” Tabitha said. Felicity blushed as easily as Beatrice did, and Charlotte snorted into her brandy. “It is thought in order to conceive, the male and the female must experience release simultaneously.”
“And release is the…fluttering?” Lacking occupation for hands that wished to wring in discomfort, Beatrice lifted the decanter to pour out another dram. Felicity did not partake, but Tabitha seemed to be well on her way to making up the duchess’s portion.
“As the flame on a candlestick often flutters.”
Beatrice shared a hearty laugh with her sister-in-law, who said, “Your husband, the Shakespeare aficionado, may call it ‘fading’ or ‘to die.’”
“As the French would have it: la petite mort,” Tabitha said, her accent not what it could be, considering her years spent on the Continent.
“And you say humans deem it necessary that both male and female experience this simultaneously to be successful in procreation? I find this a rarity despite the diligence and application of my husband’s efforts,” Charlotte said, dodging another serviette launched her way.
“There is little experimentation to strengthen these claims and no circumstances under which to investigate them,” Tabitha replied. “I believe it is through repetition, as well as the diligence and application you mentioned, that the desired outcome is achieved.”
“It is said the female is at fault if there are no children,” Beatrice said, hesitant. “It is what the man-midwives say.”
“One would be better fixed by listening to a female midwife,” Tabitha said. “Much common wisdom is not confirmed by science, and it may be simply that science is unable to compel common wisdom to conform to its methods. One anticipates a day in which we combine what has always been known by our ancestors and what is yet to be known through scientific inquiry. It is a balance, I believe, that may be struck through the unity of intuition and observable knowledge. And once women are as prevalent in the field as are men.”
Beatrice kicked off her slippers and curled her legs beneath her. “Do speak more of this balance, Tabitha.”
***
“Do not! I have engineered this precisely!” Arthur batted Lowell away from the scaffolding of branches. He collected his coat and shoved his arms through the sleeves. Lowell seemed inclined to fuss over it and set it just so about his shoulders, muttering about the line of the thing. The small woodland animals, their only witnesses, were unlikely to be bothered by a poorly hanging garment.
“I hope you will treat the initiatio with the decorum it deserves,” Lowell said, giving one last yank to the coat’s hem. “One would expect full regalia, if you even possess it.”
“I have the appropriate garments, for the love of Odin.” He was almost certain he had. “That Todd creature His Meddling Highness made us employ is seeing to it.”
Georgie huffed. “You are the recipient of every aid required to fully step into your role of Alpha due to the good offices of those around you without the lifting of your littlest finger, and yet you gurn.”
“Always up for a good gurning, is Artie,” Ben teased.
“Is that what you’re calling it?” Bates quipped, and Arthur chased his brother over hill and dale, leaping boulders and crashing through shrubbery until both were breathless and Arthur ended up laughing at the sky.
“I am fortunate.” He stood and faced them: his brother, his cousin, his neighbors. “I thank each of you, here and now and without the formality of ritual speech or fire, and proclaim my gratitude as boundless, just as you say, Georgie. In this place, at this moment, know that I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
“And that heart will open tomorrow to include us in its gratitude and strength.” Ben looked proud and overcome. “What a day it will be when the Osborn sleuth takes its rightful place once more.”
Arthur embraced Ben and rocked them side to side. Next was Lowell, and the two turned it into a playful competition. Bates and he shared a manly handshake and exchanged slaps on the back. Georgie arched a brow, but Arthur would not be put off as he all but threw himself on their prince. Who among them embraced their regent with the wish to connect rather than to kowtow? What Georgie had said was true and according to His Highness’s design: without Beatrice, Arthur would not be here, and the honor due his prince was, if not boundless, at least comprehensive.
“My thanks,” Arthur said, once more, and turned for the house.
“And felicitations on the taking of your rightful place, Beta,” Bates said to Ben.
The brothers exchanged a smile. “I am the Gamma, Matthias,” Ben said.
“Not the Second?” Ha! Lowell’s Beta appeared astounded. Arthur had got Bates on this one.
“No,” Arthur said. “There is another.”